


Echoes

by sidewinder



Category: Pink Floyd
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An echo of a distant time...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echoes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saturnina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturnina/gifts).



> Disclaimer: This work is entirely fictional. It never happened. Nothing is meant to be implied about the "real people" named in this story, and no malice is intended. It is all pure fantasy dreamed up by the author, not meant to be viewed as factual by any stretch of the imagination.

So magnificent to be in Pompeii, and yet so tragic that their time here was so limited, Roger mused as he walked along the streets of the ancient city once buried under ash and lost to mankind for centuries. They'd only had one week to film in the ruins of the amphitheater, and much of that time had been wasted due to the technical difficulties of trying to run a modern rock band's equipment through rustic Italian electrical wiring. Three songs that should have taken no more than one afternoon to play and film had ended up taking four days, so frequently did they overload the feeble electrical system with their massive amplifiers. 

Yet the Floyd had persevered and despite the tedium and preciseness of performing for film cameras instead of a live audience, managed in at least a few precious moments to do some justice to the wonders of their incredible venue. Once a place were the richest vacationing Romans could indulge their pleasures and delight in savage entertainment, now the overgrown amphitheater saw no audience for Pink Floyd's psychedelic performance - save a few industrious children who'd snuck past security to observe the visiting British rock stars with curiosity. Their presence had amused Roger and the rest of the band, and lightened the intense mood of this last afternoon recording beneath the surprisingly hot October sun. 

Now, as later afternoon light settled over the landscape and the crew was packing equipment for the long road trip home, Roger finally had some brief time to explore the quiet ruins for - and by - himself. Nick and Richard had already headed back to the nearby town where they'd been staying, determined to enjoy one evening of fine Italian food and wine on their own. Given the opportunity they'd probably be enjoying some of the other fine local specialties and flavors available, but with wives and families far away at home, temptation was difficult to resist when desire struck in a foreign land.

Roger desired little more than some time to try to contemplate this strange place, the remains of this once wealthy city lost in a day - along with thousands of lives on these streets and in these villas and houses. He'd seen the plaster casts of the bodies in the museum where Adrian had filmed atmospheric shots for the film. Like ghosts made solid in their final moments of anguish, most were faceless, nameless, stripped of their identities save "victim," "mother," "praying man" or "child." 

Something about the sight of them all had refused to leave Roger's mind since. Somehow they seemed more real, more human, than the hordes of tourists that flooded the uncovered streets of Pompeii today, gawking and taking photographs but rarely stopping to try to really _see_ what was around them.

Up ahead, however, Roger saw one figure which was indeed very real, and very human. Not a ghost but almost an angel with his long hair gleaming golden in the fading sunlight, his expression cherubic as he caught Roger's gaze and responded with a gentle smile. David, too had apparently decided to head into the heart of the ancient city for a walkabout before returning to their hotel. 

"Taking in the scenery before we must depart?" Roger asked as he drew near. David sat perched on the edge of a worn and crumbled column, one of many that visitors today posed on and used as picnic benches. Once they had no doubt reached for the heavens in the entryways of grand temples to the gods.

"Some of it is quite spectacular."

Roger wasn't sure if David meant the ruins around them or the long-legged, raven-haired woman in thigh-high boots strolling past. Italy certainly was a country with much natural as well as man-made beauty to admire. The area around the amphitheater had been closed off to tourists during the filming, but here in the center of the ancient town some still wandered about, taking a few last snapshots before rushing to catch their tour buses back to their hotels, cruise ships or trains bound elsewhere. 

"Care to walk, or have you already been off exploring?"

David shrugged and slid off his seat, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Wandered down a few streets, won't mind seeing a bit more."

They walked along largely in silence, turning down narrow alleyways, feet striking the worn stones that had been old even before being buried in ash almost two thousand years ago. The age of the place was difficult to comprehend, and humbling. Of course their own homeland had its Romain ruins here and there, and other ancient artifacts that captured the imagination. But nothing was quite like this entire city nearly preserved as if in a time capsule. 

The buildings uncovered by years of excavation stood in various states of disrepair as they walked along. Some were little more than partial walls and piles of rubble; others were nearly perfectly preserved, at least from the exterior. One such building they passed had a sign indicating it had once been one of Pompeii's many brothels.

"Figures that was one of the most solidly built buildings, and still standing here today," David joked. 

"The people of Pompeii were quite a lusty bunch, apparently." Certainly their artwork had tended toward the extremes of erotica, from what was preserved and saved in the museum. "Some Christians believed the city was destroyed as a punishment from God, for their many wicked ways and ill morals. Prostitution, lust, homosexuality all ran rampant. The phallus was an object of religious worship, in fact."

"Is that where you get it from, then? I've been wondering."

"Don't be cheeky." Reflecting quietly for a few moments, Roger thought it almost possible to hear the echoes of the lives - the very heart and life of the city - as it once had been. Busy merchants, laughing children, women tending to their homes all under the shadow of Mount Vesuvius. The volcano that had made their land so rich and fertile had one day sought costly payment from them all. 

For some reason, the thought of it all made Roger shiver. David glanced at him curiously as he rubbed his arms. "Catching a chill?"

A chill, or perhaps the touch of a ghost passing by him. Not that Roger believed in such things, but this place was beginning to play tricks with his mind. Or maybe he was starting to have a flashback to that last acid trip he'd ever taken with Syd, where it had seemed as though their room was full of ghostly figures, floating out from the walls and trying to reach him. Speak to him. Strangle him.

He hadn't touched acid since then and didn't feel like reliving the experience now. "Getting late. We should probably head back before the crew leaves us stranded here for the night."

"I'm sure we could manage a lift if need be," David answered, though he followed Roger on the path leading away and back toward the amphitheater. 

They said little else to each other on the way.

*

That night they dined with the film and road crew, killing off a few too many bottles of cheap local red wine and pasta so simple yet delicious it made one almost weep with joy. David leaned against Roger unsteadily on the walk back to their hotel, the heat of his body a pleasant contrast to the cool night air. To those they passed, they looked like nothing more than two inebriated mates staggering home after too many toasts at the bar.

It was not until they were outside David's room, Roger fumbling in David's pocket to find his keys, that David breathed against his neck, "Coming in tonight, luv?" and Roger answered, "Please, yes."

*

Urgency often fueled their passions - need brought on by the intensity of a performance, a nasty argument about their music, limited time alone while recording, touring, trying to live some measure of a life outside of the band. Tomorrow they'd be on their way home, then back on the road - more gigs. More work to be done. Always more work, more shows, more music.

But work was the furthest thing from Roger's mind as he lay curled against David's body, both of them warm and damp with sweat as heartbeats slowed and sleep beckoned. His lips rested against the back of David's neck, kissing and tasting the salt of his skin, breathing in the smell of sex in the room's air, the lingering dust and dirt of Pompeii clinging to his hair. 

"I wonder how many of them did this right before the end."

"Who did what?" David mumbled, already half asleep. 

"The people of Pompeii. Did they even have time for a last good fuck before getting buried under the ash? Or were they all too busy with futile efforts to try to escape." Most of the plaster casts of the victims showed bodies contorted in fear and pain, though there were some pairs of figures found together, lovers perhaps resigned to meet death in each other's arms.

"Dunno. How would you want to go out? Kicking and screaming to the end?"

"I think as we are now would be much preferable, wouldn't you?"

"Suppose so." But David wasn't much for philosophical discussions after sex, and soon he was clearly asleep, his breathing steady and soft. Roger followed suit soon thereafter, letting the warmth and love of the living soothe his mind and chase away the ghosts of the distant past.


End file.
